


Anniversary

by lamardeuse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair celebrate - sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Written to commemmorate the 10th anniversary of The Sentinel, March 20, 2006.

Jim was pretty proud of himself:  he didn’t start to panic until it was a week away.

To be honest, he’d watched the date approaching, drawing nearer, taunting him for over a month now, but he hadn’t known what the hell to do about it.  They didn’t celebrate anniversaries, for one.  Since neither of them had been big on hearts and flowers when they were dating women, they were both very, very happy not to have to bother with that shit now that they were together.  Neither of them had to worry about withheld sex if the other one forgot to pick up his socks or stayed out too late; in man-land, there was nothing to be gained from not having sex as often as humanly possible.  Nor did they buy one another stuffed animals on Valentine’s Day, or light a million candles when they wanted to create the right mood.  The right mood was created when both of them showed up, basically, and the rest took care of itself.

And also, they were cops, and while they did take vacations together and live together and pretty much everyone in Major Crimes knew they were a couple, it was not very politic to bill and coo in the bull pen over a romantic retreat to celebrate one’s anniversary.  There was ‘open secret’ and then there was ‘just plain stupid’, and Jim liked to think he could tell the difference.

And then about two weeks before the tenth anniversary of the day Blair Sandburg wormed his way into his life, Rafe came up to his desk when Blair was in the can and said casually, “So, what have you guys got planned?”

It took Jim a few seconds to figure out what Rafe might be talking about, and when he did, he murmured, “Uh.  Well.”

Rafe frowned.  “Hey, you’d better get cracking.  They don’t like it when you forget shit like that.”

“I haven’t forgotten, I just…”  Jim stared at him.  “‘They’?  Wait a minute, since when did it become my job?  Just because he’s still got the pony tail, that does _not _make him the little woman.”

Rafe turned slightly pink.  “Yeah, gotcha.  But – you mean to say you don’t have anything planned?  Either of you?”

Jim gritted his teeth.  “We don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Oh.”  Rafe pointed a finger in the direction of his desk.  “Well, I guess I’ll just…”

“Yeah,” Jim said, feeling strangely weightless.  “Sure.”

When Blair came back a couple of minutes later, Jim was still staring at the same line of text on the screen in front of him.

“You okay?”

Jim looked up to see the man he’d known for nearly a decade looking down at him with a concerned expression.  He was a lot thinner than he’d been when they first met, tougher, more wiry.  His hair was starting to recede a little, but true to his word he’d never cut it.  He had laugh lines around his eyes and another one between his eyebrows from years of squinting through binoculars on late night stakeouts, from looking at Jim the way he was looking at him now.

_Blair, _Jim thought, simply, because that one word always had been sufficient to explain himself, them, this.

But was it enough for Blair?  For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, pushing himself to his feet.  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Oh, _man_,” Blair panted, heaving himself up and off Jim’s body, “I think I pulled something important.”

Jim flopped a rubbery arm at him.  “You want I should take you to the hospital?”

Grinning, Blair shoved the arm away as he sprawled beside him.  “No, I don’t want you should take me to the hospital, dickwad,” he murmured.  “Though I may need an IV drip later.”

“Done.”  Jim rolled to his side, away from Blair, and switched off the light.  When he didn’t roll back, Blair frowned.  “Hey.  What’s up?”

“Hmmph?”

Blair curled up against Jim’s back.  “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

He heard Jim sigh.  “M’not weird.  Just not as young as I used to be.”

“Well, then…” Blair stopped dead when he realized he’d been about to say, “roll over and let’s cuddle.”

Nah.  He hadn’t _really _been about to say that.  Right?

But then, he also realized that’s what he’d been missing this past week.  Although they hadn’t ever talked about it (and probably never would), they usually ended up tangled together after sex, wrapped in one another’s arms.  But for the last week, Jim had been distant afterwards, almost aloof.  And Blair had woken up shivering more than once.

He wondered if it had something to do with the anniversary.  He’d thought about it, sure, but when Jim hadn’t said anything, he’d figured it wasn’t the big deal he’d initially thought it might be.  And it wasn’t, he supposed – five years, ten years, fifty – it didn’t really mean anything.  They’d spent the last six and a half years since getting together living each day to the fullest, experiencing everything they could of one another, and to attach more importance to one particular day seemed silly.  

Still, though, the anthropologist in him was reluctant to discount the importance of ceremony, of tradition.  Of marking milestones, however artificial, because culture itself was an artificial construct.

Was it because there was no social underpinning for this ceremony?  Did Jim, who had been married, who underneath it all was a pretty traditional guy, feel the lack of societal approval for their relationship more keenly than he did?  Was he beginning to regret not choosing a life partner with whom he could celebrate important events publicly, openly?

“Well then – what?” Jim grunted, sounding half-asleep already, yanking Blair from his reverie.

“Uh, nothing, man.  Good night,” he added, delivering an awkward pat to Jim’s back.  Jim reached back and pawed at Blair’s hip for a moment before stilling for good.

And Blair rolled onto his back and stared up at the skylight, thinking.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

By the time the day rolled around, Jim was just about ready to chew off his own leg.  Or somebody’s leg; he was open to any reasonable offers.

He’d taken to watching Blair almost constantly, or as constantly as he could considering Blair was a cop and could _tell _when he was being watched, so it took extra effort to pull it off effectively.  He kept hoping for some sign, some betrayal of what Blair was thinking about the whole anniversary issue, but it wasn’t like Blair was going to tattoo _I’d like a weekend in Hawaii, thanks_ on his forehead, so basically, all of that careful surveillance yielded exactly bupkus.

On the anniversary, Jim got out of bed a half hour before the alarm went off, brushed his teeth about six times, then crawled back into bed and stared at Blair in the dim light until he jerked awake, because he could evidently tell when Jim was being a psycho even when he was asleep.

“Wha – what?  What’s going on, Jim?” His hair spilled over the pillow in every direction and Jim wanted to press his nose to those soft curls and never, ever leave this bed.

“Nothing,” Jim said, and then he realized that was wrong, and he started again:  “Just, I wanted to tell you – ”

Blair blinked at him – he was pretty much totally blind without his contacts now, and his myopic eyes peered up at Jim, not quite able to focus.  “Yeah?”

Jim’s voice faltered.  “I, uh, it’s – my turn to buy breakfast this morning,” he said scratchily.

Blair blinked a couple of more times, and then he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  

“In that case, I want extra bacon,” he muttered.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The third time Henri looked at him as he walked past his desk, Blair snapped.  “What?” he gritted.  

Henri only shook his head.  “Man, you guys,” he said, turning back to his work.

“Where the hell is Megan, anyway?” Blair said peevishly, glaring out the office window.  “I need that damned report.”

“Relax,” Brown drawled, unconcerned.  “Simon sent her and Rafe on a mission.  She’s got bigger fish to fry today.”

“What’s bigger than the Anderson case?” Blair said.  “I haven’t heard about anything new.”

“It’s not new, it’s old.”  Simon’s rumbling voice right behind him made Blair jump about three feet in the air.  “_Too_ old.”  

Blair spun around in time to watch Henri and Simon exchange knowing glances.  He narrowed his eyes.  “Why do I think something funny is going on?”

Simon raised his eyebrows.  “Your finely honed cop instincts?”

“Simon…” Blair warned.  Just then, Henri’s phone rang, and he picked it up.

“Yeah?  Yeah?  Yeah?”  Blair rolled his eyes.  “Great, Megan.  I’ll let ‘em know.”  Henri put down the receiver and nodded at Simon and Blair.  “That was Megan.  She said she and Rafe are gonna be busy on that new case for the rest of the day, so she won’t have a chance to finish that Anderson report.  Jim and Blair might as well go on home early.”

Simon turned toward Blair.  “Well, aren’t you lucky!” he said, beaming.  He patted Blair on the shoulder so hard Blair thought his feet might have sunk into the floor a couple of inches.  “Why don’t you go tell your partner the good news, hm?”

Blair felt his other shoulder slump.  “Yeah.  Sure.  Thanks, Simon.”  It was two o’clock in the afternoon and he got to go home early with Jim on their anniversary, which they were totally not discussing or celebrating.

_Fabulous_, Blair thought, imagining possibly the most awkward evening of his life, and that included the time his mother had walked in on him jerking off.  _Really looking forward to it._

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“What.  The hell.”

Jim frowned.  “Chief, did you…”

Blair stepped cautiously into the apartment, looking like he was this close to drawing his weapon.  “No.  Did you?”

“Of course not,” Jim snapped.  Blair turned huge blue eyes on him and Jim realized that had been the wrong thing to say.  

“Yeah,” Blair said, heavily.  “Well, if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t you, then…”

Jim looked up and pointed.  “Hm.  You think that might be a clue?”

Blair followed the line of Jim’s finger to the banner stretched across the windows of the loft, on which someone had scrawled in green Magic Marker:

  
  


**~ HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY YOU MORONS ~**

  


This was not the only evidence they’d been the victim of a break-in; there was also a ginormous bouquet of flowers on the dining table, a brightly colored envelope propped up beside it, and around the loft someone had strewn what was easily a couple of hundred candles in glass holders – all unlit.  There were dozens on the stairs alone, and Jim was willing to bet they’d find another five dozen in the bedroom.

“That crazy Aussie,” Blair muttered.  “Geez, it’s like somebody threw up an issue of _Cosmo _all over the place.”

Jim walked over to the table and picked up the envelope, sneezing at the scent of the flowers.  Inside was a gift certificate to the swanky new Moroccan restaurant around the corner and a card.

_Dear Jim and Blair:_

_This was mostly my idea, because I figured you’d be too much like blokes to do anything special for your anniversary.  The truth is, Brian and I’ve been looking for an excuse to do a little something for you both for a while now – you bought us  such a lovely wedding gift and I felt odd not being able to give you anything in return.  We don’t talk about it much, but I know the boys feel the same way – they won’t ever admit it to your faces, but they love you and they want you to be happy.  As for me, I know you’re happy – I saw it in you the first day I met you, and I see it today, and it gives me hope for Brian and myself.  I want that same fire and devotion that you have ten years down the road._

_Here’s hoping you celebrate many, many more anniversaries.  Love to you both – _

_Megan_  
_Simon_  
_Brian_  
_Henri_

  
_P.S.  I didn’t want to light the candles and risk setting the bloody loft on fire before you got home – that would have been quite a pressie.  And tell Jim to quit whinging – I made sure the florist picked unscented blooms._

  
Silently, Jim handed the card to Blair.  He read it quickly, then folded it and set it upright on the table.

“So,” he said, lifting his gaze to Jim’s.  “Pretty nice.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, coming closer, his legs feeling like rubber.  “I’m – uh, I’m sorry, Chief.”

“No sorrier than I am,” Blair murmured.  He took a step too, closing the distance, meeting Jim halfway.

He’d always met him halfway, Jim realized suddenly.  In all the ways that counted, they’d been partners from day one.  And God help him, if he had anything to say about it, they’d be partners for the rest of their lives.  

Because there was no way he was giving Blair up for anything – not even his own doubts and fears.

“So, uh, should I call that Moroccan place, see if we can make a reservation?” Blair asked, his hands sliding around Jim’s waist and tugging him against his body.

“Nah,” Jim said, his own hands rising to Blair’s shoulders and burying themselves in his soft, soft hair.  “I think we should see if they deliver.”

Blair laughed quietly against Jim’s mouth.  “You have all the best ideas.”

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Jim?

“Jim?”

Jim groaned.  “Shh.  Don’t disturb the body.”

Blair tugged insistently at his arm.  “C’mere, willya?  I want to cuddle.”

Jim stared at him.  “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Blair cast his eyes skyward.  “Yeah, so I’m turning into a Cosmo girl in my middle age.  Get the fuck over here.”  He rolled over so that Jim could spoon up behind him.

“Pushy, pushy,” Jim murmured, though he moved obediently, rolling to his side and throwing an arm over Blair’s chest.

“Well, I _tried_.”

Blair felt Jim’s finger flick against the side of his skull.  “Dick.”

“Well, if you recognized what it was, I couldn’t have done _too _badly.”

Jim’s arm tightened around Blair’s chest.  “Sleep now.  Banter later.”

Sighing, Blair relaxed into the pillow, his own arm settling atop Jim’s.  “G’night.”

“G’night, Cosmo girl.”

“Happy anniversary, Jim.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, and Blair could feel the smile against his neck as he nuzzled his way past Blair’s hair.  “Couldn’t get much happier.”

“Better start working on that, then,” Blair said, drifting into sleep.  “‘Cause we’ve got a lot more years to go.”

    
    
    
 

P.S.  They never did light the candles.  Because Blair would never be _that _much of a Cosmo girl. 

**Author's Note:**

> First published March 2006.


End file.
